


Beautiful Boy

by loglady1980



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, dream learns how to play the guitar, hence the mature rating, like very little smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:22:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28930944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loglady1980/pseuds/loglady1980
Summary: Quackity teaches Dream how to play the guitar after the karaoke stream, and George demands to be serenaded.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Clay | Dream, Alexis | Quackity & GeorgeNotFound, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 280
Collections: MCYT





	Beautiful Boy

_“A thousand miles seems pretty far, but they've got planes, and trains, and cars, I'd walk to you if I had no other way,” Dream sang quietly, sprinting aimlessly around the makeshift stage Karl had fashioned out of oak slabs. Alex’s voice swelled, drowning out his soft singing._

_“Our friends would all make fun of us, and we'll just laugh along because we know that none of them have felt this way.”_

Ouch.

Dream leaned back in his chair, silently listening to the cacophony of voices, George’s shrieks punctuating Karl and Alex’s slightly tone-deaf serenade. Once they logged off, he’d fallen into bed, securely cocooning himself as the sun began to rise. Before shutting his eyes, Dream couldn’t help but remember that small glimpse of vulnerability, late in the stream, when George stopped screaming and actually sang—the soft, honeyed tone Dream had only been allowed glimpses of, late at night on thumbnail-editing calls, when George absentmindedly mumbled whichever song was stuck in his head that week. It was usually Travis Scott—Alex would join their teamspeak with his ridiculous voice changer, adding in an occasional “it’s lit!” until George groaned in annoyance and banned him. 

It was those soft hours, the ones just before daybreak, when lack of sleep set in while the sun chased the moon. Those soft hours, when Dream pressed George to his breaking point, asking questions friends weren’t supposed to ask, earning responses friends weren’t supposed to give. Those soft hours, when Dream scoured the internet for a guitar—the night after the karaoke stream, the night after he’d fallen asleep craving more than just stolen glances and weak flirting passed off as bait, the night after he’d felt his heart pound uncharacteristically as he sang with George, voices intertwining gently, like the slightest gust of wind would surely carry them away.

The guitar sat in the corner of Dream’s room for weeks, collecting dust as life trudged forward steadily. Dream forgot why he even purchased the instrument in the first place, forgot the warm glow that settled in his heart that night George’s voice lilted through his headset, causing his face to go numb and his heart to tremble. It wasn’t until one hazy Thursday night, when he decided to catch the end of Alex’s stream with George, letting it play quietly in the background as he replied to emails. Dream perked up at the sound of Alex quietly singing to chat, strumming his guitar as George hummed in the background. 

“Chat, chat! You want some Taylor Swift? Say less!” Alex screamed, frantically plucking at his guitar strings. 

“I don’t know any Taylor Swift,” George whined, already half-asleep.

“Shut up, GeorgeNotFound,” Alex replied sharply, “just search up the lyrics.”

“Okay,” he yawned, and Dream felt a smile ghost his lips at the familiar clicking of George’s keyboard.

Dream zoned out, engrossed in his phone as George and Alex absolutely butchered the song, leading them to dissolve into laughter as the chorus ended. After they caught their breath, Alex cleared his throat gruffly, screaming, “Stop! Stop! Okay, George, please, take the next part seriously.”

“Ugh,” George groaned, “I don’t like singing.”

“George, please,” Alex begged, “this is the good part.”

“I remember you were driving to my house in the middle of the night, I'm the one who makes you laugh when you know you're about to cry,” they sang, George’s voice dropping to that same damned pitch that drove Dream mad. That same pitch he’d used when they sang together, that same pitched that stabbed holes in Dream’s bleeding heart, making him desperate with want. 

“Okay, George, George. You sing this part,” Alex shrieked as the music swelled. 

Dream hurriedly turned his volume up, almost subconsciously. 

_“Dream! What was up with you today?”_

_“I don’t know—it’s fine, I guess sometimes I just get tired of the jokes.”_

_“It’s harmless, you know that.”_

_“It’s not, George. It’s not harmless to me.”_

_“Why not?”_

_“Because- because- sometimes I wish they weren’t just jokes.”_

“I know your favorite songs and you tell me about your dreams, think I know where you belong, think I know it's with me,” George murmured, so softly that the guitar almost completely drowned out his voice. 

Dream heard, though. He heard the gentle notes strike a match in his mind and welcomed the flames with open arms, letting George’s fire incinerate the very last of his rational thoughts.

George resumed his demonic scream-singing as they finished the song, amid Alex’s chants of “we are popping off, we are popping off!”

 _Hey man, sorry if this is weird but I bought a guitar a few weeks ago and I kinda need a teacher. I’m shit at following youtube tutorials,_ Dream typed with trembling hands, trying to quell the firestorm of George’s serene, sleep-deprived singing consuming his brain as he hit enter.

 _Sure dude. I can help you out tomorrow,_ Alex responded a few minutes later.

Dream practiced for days on end, until rough calluses formed on his aching fingers—finding the trial and error, the lessons with Alex, the methodical chord progressions strangely comforting, a welcome distraction from the all-encompassing, full-body reactions he’d started having to George’s voice, George’s face… _George_ in general.

They were facetiming one day, a daily group ritual since Sapnap moved in that quickly transformed into hours-long private calls between Dream and George. There was never any agenda, as George jumped around his room, organized his growing collection of cardboard boxes, played with his cat, rambled about coding projects he had planned, and Dream sat there like a child transfixed to Sunday morning cartoons. 

“Dream, is that a guitar?” George asked, his face splitting into a grin.

“Oh, what?” Dream breathed, snapping out of his reverie.

George giggled softly, a sound that made Dream’s mind go fuzzy. “I _said_ ,” he continued, “Is that a guitar?”

“Yeah,” Dream laughed self-consciously, scratching at his neck and avoiding eye contact. 

“I didn’t know you played,” George said, saccharine words causing Dream’s stomach to churn.

“I don’t, really, I just bought it a few weeks ago. Alex was teaching me.”

George frowned, drumming his fingers against his desk. “Play for me,” he demanded.

“What- _no_. I’m not gonna play for you.”

“Why not?” George whined, using _that_ voice, the one he knew made Dream crumble. It nearly did.

“Because-” Dream stuttered, ignoring the puppy-dog eyes staring at him longingly, “because I suck. I only know one song, and I’m shit. I’m not playing for you.”

“You play for Alex,” George grumbled.

“Alex is _teaching_ me. There’s a difference.”

“I can teach you.”

“No,” Dream chuckled, watching as George rolled his eyes indignantly.

“I can teach you other things,” he mumbled, resting his head on his arm. 

“Really?” Dream questioned, feeling heat rise in his cheeks. “Like what?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” George giggled. “You’re blushing, Dream,” he added nonchalantly, but Dream saw the self-satisfied smile peek out from the corner of the screen.

“You make me blush, George.”

“Shut up.”

“No.”

“You’re impossible. I’m going to bed. G’night Dream,” George laughed, frantically waving at the camera.

“Night, George,” Dream whispered, ending the call. He stared at the black screen for a minute after George’s face disappeared, resisting the inexplicable urge to call him back, just for one more glimpse.

_I’m embarrassing._

He brushed his teeth and said goodnight to Sapnap, who was immersed in a _very_ intense game of CSGO, hollering curses into his mic and aggressively slamming the flimsy desk they’d hastily thrown together upon moving in. When Dream finally crawled into bed, his phone lit up again. Fumbling around aimlessly in the darkness, he squinted to see the message illuminated on his screen.

_Hi._

_Thought you were going to bed,_ Dream typed quickly, feeling his heart race. 

_Can’t sleep._

_Why?_

_Too sad._

_Sad?_

_Yeah, my idiot best friend won’t even give me a crumb of musical entertainment._

_Your best friend sounds like a wise man._

_Trust me, he isn’t._

Dream laughed softly, flipping over in bed.

_Your idiot best friend probably doesn’t want to embarrass himself._

_Well, I think he’d be quite good at playing the guitar._

_What makes you say that?_

_Nevermind._

_Tell me._

_Only if you play._

_No._

_Then I won’t tell you._

Dream groaned, eyes darting across the room to make out the hazy shadow of his guitar lazily leaning against the closet door.

_Fine, I’ll play. Now tell me._

_You’d be good at playing the guitar because of your fingers._

Dream let out a loud exhale, examining his hand intently.

_My fingers?_

_Your fingers are long. Good for playing._

George seemed to type for ages, and Dream jammed his eyes shut, taking deep breaths and willing his hands to stop shaking. When his eyes opened, another message appeared.

_Good for other things, too._

He felt the match strike.

 _Like what?_ Dream typed, heart pounding.

_Want me to show you?_

The fire returned, sending the heat pooling in Dream’s cheeks sinfully downwards.

_Okay._

His phone rang.

“Dream,” George whispered breathily.

“George?” he replied, listening intently to the rapid breaths emitting from his phone’s speaker.

“Hello.”

“Hi, idiot,” Dream said, chuckling softly, pretending like his sweatpants weren’t growing more uncomfortable by the second.

“I don’t know why I called,” George murmured lowly, causing Dream’s head to spin.

“Really?”

“No, that’s a lie.”

“I figured.”

“You’ll play for me tomorrow?” George pressed.

“Fine,” Dream huffed, “but you can’t make fun of me.”

“I would never!” George whispered sharply.

“Now _that’s_ a lie,” Dream replied teasingly, ignoring George’s scoff. 

“You’re annoying.”

“Yeah, right. You want me,” Dream said cockily, feeling his stomach turn the second the words left his lips. “Wait, no. I didn’t mean that, sorry. Sorry.”

_Too far, dumbass._

“I do,” George mumbled. 

“W-what?” Dream stuttered, hearing George exhale sharply on the other end.

“I’m not going to say it again.”

“Fuck.”

“What do you want, Dream?”

_I want sunrises and sunsets. I want to sing you to sleep, I want to feel you in my hands, perfect and beautiful and soft and writhing under my touch. I want to cook you dinner and listen for your footsteps at night. I want to love you slowly, gently, the way you deserve to be loved. I want to hurt you in the best ways possible, and I want you to hurt me back. I want to kiss you, and kiss you, and then kiss you some more. I want us to deserve each other._

“I don’t know,” he whispered.

“That’s okay.”

“Honestly, right now, I kind of want to get off.”

“Dream!” George exclaimed, laughing softly, “Go do that then, I’m not getting involved.”

“You don’t?”

“No!”

“Didn’t seem that way a few minutes ago.”

“Well, that was then. This is now.”

“What were you doing-” Dream swallowed, “what were you doing when I called?”

“Dream, I-”

“George, tell me,” he demanded sharply, feeling himself ache, “I’m not gonna ask again.”

“W-what you want to be doing right now,” George murmured, shifting around, “didn’t- ah- didn’t quite complete the task, though.”

“Wanna kill two birds with one stone?” Dream choked out, mentally blaming his conviction on lack of sleep, rather than burning arousal.

“So romantic, Dream,” George chuckled, “thought you’d never ask.”

“Are you, uh-” he asked, hand inching downwards.

“Yeah. You?”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck,” George laughed. “I guess this was bound to happen.”

“Really?” Dream wondered aloud, starting to stroke gently. “Shit,” he muttered, “what- uh- what are you doing?”

“I’m thinking about your fingers,” George said darkly. Dream sped up, feeling shockwaves reverberate through his body.

“Where?”

“God, everywhere. In my mouth. Around my neck. Pulling my hair- I- I bet you’d pull my hair- fuck- _Inside me_. I’d want them inside me.”

“Fuck, George, please.”

“I- I’m close,” George whimpered.

“Me too,” Dream groaned, imagining George’s pale limbs wrapped around him, his soft lips spit-slick and raw, his eyes glazed over with desperation.

Dream heard a sharp, breathy gasp and let himself go, feeling his nerves buzz with warmth and lust and roaring _need_ as he came down from the high.

“Fuck,” George laughed. “That was hot.”

“George!” Dream whisper-screamed, cleaning himself off with a spare t-shirt.

“What?” he giggled. “It’s true.”

“God, go to sleep, you menace, it’s too late, or early for you,” Dream muttered.

“Fine. Goodnight, Dream.”

“Goodnight, George.”

“Can I- can I stay on the call?”

“Of course,” Dream breathed, feeling his chest tighten. 

George’s quiet breaths lulled Dream to sleep as he stared at the ceiling, bubbling anxiety mixing with burning lust- no- _love._

_Fuck._

He woke up to a dead phone, a crumpled t-shirt on his nightstand, and ten missed discord messages from George.

_Hello_

_Hiiiiiiiii_

_Dream_

_Play for me now?_

_Are you sleeping_

_Sapnap said you’re asleep_

_I feel like we should talk about last night_

_But I kind of want you to play for me first_

_Ugh, you’re annoying. Message me when you wake up_

_DREAMMMMMMMMMMM_

_Hi George,_ Dream typed out, stretching as he lowered himself into his chair.

_Finally! Can I hear you play?_

_A deal’s a deal, I guess._

George was video calling him a minute later, bundled up in a hoodie with semi-damp hair and a wide smile.

“Okay, go!” he commanded, curling up in his chair. 

“God, give me a second,” Dream muttered, tentatively plucking at a few strings. “Do not make fun of me, George. I suck.”

“I don’t care,” George whined. “Sing, too.”

“Sing?”

“I want the full experience.”

“Fine,” Dream grumbled, knowing he’d probably be unable to say no, even if he tried. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, and started to strum. 

_“Close your eyes, have no fear, the monster's gone. He's on the run and your daddy's here.”_

“Are you calling yourself my daddy?” George giggled, tilting his head slightly. 

“Shut up, George,” Dream groaned, repositioning his fingers.

_“Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy.”_

Dream heard George hum softly, resting his head on his palm.

_“Before you go to sleep, say a little prayer, every day, in every way, it's getting better and better. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy.”_

George smiled brightly, tapping his finger on the side of his head. Dream looked up, and they locked eyes. Feeling a surge of warmth flood his veins, Dream held eye contact, letting his words drip with adoration, with all the months and months of pining and stolen glances, soft whispers and loud screams, days of laughter, nights of passion.

_“Out on the ocean sailing away, I can hardly wait to see you come of age, but I guess we'll both just have to be patient, 'cause it's a long way to go, a hard row to hoe. Yes, it's a long way to go, but in the meantime, before you cross the street, take my hand. Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans.”_

George shifted in his seat, watching Dream with wide eyes and a tender smile. 

_“Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy. Before you go to sleep, say a little prayer, every day, in every way, it's getting better and better, Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy.”_

_“Darling, darling, darling…”_

Fuck it.

_“Darling George.”_

**Author's Note:**

> hi, thanks for reading :)
> 
> title is from beautiful boy by john lennon. he originally wrote it for his son, sean, as a lullaby. the last line is supposed to be "darling, darling, darling, darling sean"
> 
> hope u guys liked this! wanted to practice writing some fluff.
> 
> love from the loglady <3


End file.
